


Choices

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Spirit Healer Hawke [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Arguing, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Dysfunctional Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “Carver,” Hawke said gently, putting his hands on Carver’s shoulders. He’d decided the night before. “Carver, this expedition is going to be dangerous, with no guarantee of a reward. You want me to bring you with me? And if we both die, then Mother—”“Why is always about her?” Carver snapped, and Hawke winced at hearing his mother’s gasp beside them, the desperate anger in her face. “Father, Bethany, me, everything’s about Mother, why can’t anything be about me?”“This is about you,” Hawke said.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Series: Spirit Healer Hawke [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517876
Kudos: 17





	Choices

Anders glanced up from the Deep Roads maps he and Hawke had spread out on the table before them when he heard the door slam shut in the next room. Carver, back from whatever errand he’d been helping Merrill run, no doubt, and when Carver entered the room, Anders glanced at Hawke.

He looked…

Tired. He usually did.

The Deep Roads expedition was due out tomorrow, though, and afterward… afterward, it would be better. Anders hoped it would be better, anyway, that Hawke would get what he needed out of this, that he’d be able to reestablish his family name. He wanted to repay his debts to Hawke, that much was true, but…

But he kept thinking of lying on the same small cot as Hawke, the few times they’ve done that. Anders hasn’t even kissed him, not yet, as much as he’s thought about it, and yet he’s lain on his side beside Hawke, looking at the planes of his face while he sleeps, watching the peace that settles over him when he manages to get the scant hours of sleep he can.

“I understand that it will mean leaving your patients for a time,” Hawke said quietly, his hands spread over their notes on the table, calculating points of potential weakness in the foundations of the thaigs ahead of them, points where they might not want to use certain spells. Hawke’s eyes were dark and serious, his focus on Anders’ face. “But if you’re willing, I would ask you to join us.”

“Of course I will,” Anders said immediately. “You don’t even have to ask.”

“There’s a chance we won’t come back,” Hawke said. “If you die, then your clinic—”

“But if I don’t go with you, and _you_ die, I lose a second pair of hands in the clinic,” Anders interrupted, giving Hawke a smile that he knew made his eyes crinkle, knew made the laughter lines show on his face – he still wasn’t old, not by anyone’s standards, but he was showing the age he had more prematurely than he’d like. It wasn’t as if Hawke didn’t have the same problem, though. “And when we have twenty patients in one day that have some new pox from the Blooming Rose, you are _really_ useful to have around.”

Hawke laughed, lowly and weakly.

“Thank you,” Hawke said softly. It was real, genuine. _Deep_.

The door opened, and Carver’s gaze landed immediately on the maps, coming forward. He didn’t stand at Hawke’s shoulder: he pushed past him, and Anders watched Hawke let him, turning his body to let Carver take the front. He did that a lot, Anders noticed. He let Carver go forward if he thought it was safe, actually let Carver take the lead when he wanted to, even when Carver was rude and abrasive and…

Unlikable.

“This is going to be…” Carver said, staring down at the maps, “_incredible_.”

Anders watched Hawke’s face, the guarded expression in it.

Hawke patted Carver’s shoulder, and didn’t say anything.

\--

“You can’t let him go,” Mother said, desperate, and Hawke stared at the pain in her face, at the desperation, as he felt Carver bristle beside him. “Are you going to bring him? Garrett, you can’t—”

“Why do you have to interfere!? Why do you _always_—” Carver demanded, stepping forward, and Hawke’s hand whipped out, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him back, a steadying hand on his brother’s hip to make sure he stayed balanced. He was gentle, not too rough about it, but Carver whirled on him like he was ready to bite. “No! I’m _going_ on this expedition, I’m _going_—”

“Carver,” Hawke said gently, putting his hands on Carver’s shoulders. He’d decided the night before. “Carver, this expedition is going to be dangerous, with no guarantee of a reward. You want me to bring you with me? And if we both die, then Mother—”

“Why is always about her?” Carver snapped, and Hawke winced at hearing his mother’s gasp beside them, the desperate anger in her face. “Father, Bethany, _me_, everything’s about Mother, why can’t anything be about _me_?”

“This is about you,” Hawke said. “This is about keeping you safe, because you’re my brother, and—”

“_Fuck_ you! You’re not Father! You don’t get to decide everything in my life, you don’t get to—”

“I can decide this,” Hawke said. “Carver, you’re not coming on this expedition. I’m sorry that you want to, but if anything happened to you, _anything_, I wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not after what happened to Bethany, not after everything we’ve been through, and I—”

“No,” Carver said, shaking his head as he stepped back. “No, it’s just because _you_ want the limelight, as usual, _you_ want to be in charge, you _have_ to—”

“No, Carver—”

He was already walking away. Stalking away, arms pumping, and Hawke stared after him, feeling the nauseous ache in his chest, wishing…

“You gotta make your choices, who’s coming with us,” Bartrand said impatiently, and Hawke turned his head away from his brother’s retreating back.

\--

Anders sat across from Hawke on the boat, watching the other man, Hawke’s expression distant and faraway.

“You did the right thing,” Fenris said quietly, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression as unrevealing as it ever was, but focused on Hawke. He liked Carver. Andraste knew why, but then, Fenris was as much of a prickly bastard as Carver was, and Maker knew misery loved company. “Your brother has long-since claimed he seeks to crawl out from beneath your shadow. There he stands, in stark sunlight. This is what he wanted.”

“This isn’t what any of us wanted,” Hawke replied, biting out the words, and Fenris’ face fell, but Hawke looked to him, reached out, brushed the elf’s shoulder. Fenris flinched at the touch, and Hawke pulled his hand back as though he’d been burned, swallowing. “Sorry. I’m not angry at you. I know you and Carver are friends.”

“He keeps insisting on pretending you don’t care about him,” Anders said. “That isn’t your fault, Hawke. He’s not a child anymore, he can’t just hang onto your robe tails all the time and complain that not everything you do is tailored to him. He can’t expect you to keep making his choices for him, then complain that they aren’t the ones he wants.”

“Even assuming we come from this expedition triumphant, laden down with treasure, how would it have helped him to join us?” Fenris asked, his voice low. “How does he think he can distinguish himself, when he will not pursue his own endeavours?”

“What endeavours?” Hawke asked. “Aveline won’t let him join the guards; he doesn’t want to be a mercenary. What can he do?”

“Make his own choices,” Fenris said. “The abom—” Anders was grateful for the look Hawke gave Fenris, and Fenris shot Anders a scowl before he adjusted himself to, “He is correct. Carver is a capable and intelligent young man – he will make his own choices in your absence. Perhaps they will be the stupid, impulsive choices of youth. That is his right as a stupid, impulsive young man. You would only be doing him an injustice to take that right from him.”

Hawke inhaled, slowly.

“He’s my little brother,” Hawke said.

“He’s his own man, first,” Fenris replied, and Anders couldn’t help the slight burn of jealousy that came to him as he saw the way Hawke looked at Fenris, and yet—

“I’m glad he has you as a friend,” Hawke said quietly, and Fenris turned his face away.

\--

“Was your sister like that?” Anders asked, late that night, when Hawke hadn’t moved a muscle for over half an hour, staring into the dying embers of the fire beside them. He and Anders had moved to the side of camp, and distantly he could hear Bodahn rambling in circles, occasionally pressuring Varric or Fenris to confirm they were listening, or invested in whatever it was he was saying. “Like Carver?”

“No,” Hawke said quietly. “Bethany was… She cared more about what people thought of her. She was better at lying, at being charismatic, at being likable, even when she didn’t feel like it. She had this sweet and innocent act, you’d think, talking to her, that butter wouldn’t melt. She… She looked after Carver. She was the mediator in our family, I suppose. Always ready to stop an argument.”

“That wasn’t you?” Anders asked, and Hawke looked at him, then shook his head.

“I’m not a mediator. I always tried not to argue, but Mother, Carver, when they’re angry, they’re angry. They’ll argue whether you want to or not.” Hawke’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he sighed. “My father was always a pillar of strength. When he died, it was my responsibility to care for the others.”

“Did you want to?”

“Want to?” Hawke repeated. “What does that mean? What else could I have _wanted_? To abandon my family?”

“Your mother could have taken command,” Anders said. “She— She seems comfortable enough, giving orders.”

“She can’t fight,” Hawke said. “And she has no magic. And Father _asked_ me to…” Hawke shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled, and he swallowed again. “I never had a choice, Anders. I had to do what was right.”

“You could have chosen to be selfish,” Anders said, wrestling with the self-loathing that prickled under his skin, and the voice of Justice growing louder and louder, calling for him to _work_, to get out of this stupid expedition and pursue real, genuine activism. “I was like that for years.”

“We should sleep,” Hawke said.

“Okay,” Anders murmured.


End file.
